


Spoiled

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 3rd Age - The Stewards, Drama, Violent sex- Violent talk- just-violence, and lots of very explicit Maia to Maia sex!, dammit! Oh, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2005-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-28 17:09:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3862742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another Pre-Ring War romp.</p><p>Gandalf’s POV-  At Dol Guldur, Gandalf has encountered the Necromancer- and finds his suspicions are correct- it is, indeed, Sauron himself. Along with Saruman, he confronts a very guilty- and very trapped- Maia.</p><p>AU- The Istari do not simply rout Sauron- but attempt to bring him back for trial.</p><p>Good luck.</p><p>Warnings: Violent sex- Violent talk- just-violence, dammit!  Oh, yes, and lots of very explicit Maia to Maia sex!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trapped

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

I enter the dark and incensed room carefully, sensing my wicked kinsman’s presence.

I see him by the window, looking out at the stars, his back to me. Unarmed, thankfully.

I can only see the long waist length hair falling down in a golden eruption, and the tall, lithe form, cloaked in ebony and scarlet- but I know it is he.

He turns, sensing me, and is taken by surprise, startled, totally off guard.

The look on his face is priceless, a shocked, frightened child, caught in the act, and nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

He turns to flee, a ridiculous idea at best.

I am upon him in an instant, pushing him to the ground, on his belly, and I grab him in a neck hold, not tightly enough to choke him- but just enough to make my point- submit, or else face the consequences.

He shrieks angrily, and tries to buck me off. I grab the long golden hair and yank his head back, again trying to make the same point clear to him.

“Let me go!” he screams, thrashing under my weight.

I turn him over by his hair, and he wails and struggles. I do not really want to be so rough, but it is necessary. He will not understand, otherwise.

“Sauron! Stop fighting me!” I slap the fair face, eliciting a furious howl. He tries to lunge for my eyes, then, with his long nailed fingers, longing to blind me, and I reprimand him again, with a harder backhanded blow across that dreadfully sweet mouth.

He draws back, cringing, tears beginning to appear in the sapphire eyes, and I try again.

“Sauron! Calm yourself. No one is going to harm you. You force me to raise my hand to you, I will not do so, if you will only submit!”

Through sobs, Sauron looks up at me, and mutters blackly, sitting up, and I quickly shackle him.

I want to slap that too-pretty, insolent face, but I restrain myself, with great effort.

Curumo has caught up, at last, and I give him a withering look.

“Where have you been?” I ask, exasperated, struggling to remain respectful- he is, after all, my superior. He ought to have been here, by my side, to help me restrain Sauron.

Where has he been!

“I- needed to see to something.” he says, no real explanation. I have no time to be suspicious, I need his aid. But years, many years later, I will understand that he had been looking feverishly for any trace of the Ring.

Sauron- on his knees- shackled behind.

Curumo walks to him slowly, a look on his face I do not like. A look of deep anger, and savage frustration.

Sauron watches him approach, a nervous look on his face.

And suddenly, he draws back and strikes Sauron across the mouth with his Staff, eliciting a cry of shock from me, and a wail from Sauron, who topples to his side.

Swiftly, I intercede, and place myself between the two of them. Curumo looks at me blackly, and shoves me aside.

“Protecting the Abhorred, Mithrandir? Why?”

And he seizes Sauron by his slender shoulders, and digs his fingers in hard.

“Where is it, Gorthaur, Nine Fingers? Vile and accursed! Where is the Ring? Tell me, and perhaps I will only behead you, and not draw it out! Would you prefer a leisurely roasting over a nice fire, Sauron? You are a Fire Maia, I think that would make you feel right at home!”

Sauron looks at me in numb terror, and his long slim body trembles- I try to signal him to say nothing- it will only make it worse.

I have never seen Curumo like this.

But Sauron, who either did not understand, or is simply too hysterical to follow the advice, chokes out an answer, and it is not one that my Mentor desires:

“I do not have it! If I had it, would I not be in Mordor, and not Dol Guldur?”

Saruman contemplates this bleakly, and then, he kneels by Sauron, and in a soft, almost gentle voice, delivers his assessment:

“Then you have no need to be alive any longer. The world will be well rid of you.”

His long strong hands wrap around Sauron’s slender neck, and as the blue eyes bulge in fear, I again intervene, earning the wrath of my superior.

“Gandalf! How dare you—“

“I beg your pardon, my Lord Curumo. But- do we not have a very firm commandment to bring him before Manwë, to be tried and judged, and sentenced to penance? I recall nothing of being directed to slay him, if he is captured and subdued! Indeed, are we not to simply stay his hand?”

Curumo gives me a look of pure rage, and replies coldly:

“Gandalf- you have developed quite a talent for interference. I shall note this well. So be it! As you are so much wiser than I in this, I will leave him entirely in your care!”

And with that, he starts to rise up, and Sauron- in a badly timed resurgence of courage- spits at him viciously, hitting the clean white mantle with a well-aimed gobbet of Maia-drool.

Saruman’s expression changes from cold malice to fierce hatred, and he draws back a boot to kick Sauron in the face.

For the third time, I meddle, pulling him back. He looks at me, as if he would like very much to see me roasting alive beside Sauron, in his grim fantasy of justice and revenge.

And then storms off, thunderclouds in his dark eyes.

My heart pounds with the unnatural excitement- and then I turn to face my prisoner.

Sauron is struggling to sit upright again, his face already bruising from the harsh treatment.

“Why?”, he mumbles. “Why? Why- what?” I reply, confused, weary.

“Why did you spare me? Why did you oppose Curumo, who is over you?”

I look at him, and shake my head, saying:

“There was no reason for your death. I do not know what- I have never seen him like that. I cannot understand his- anger.”

Sauron smiles slightly, his face lighting the room, despite the dark bruises.

“He lusts for my Ring. You did not know this?”

I cannot accept this, and I make no answer.

Irritated that I do not believe him, he shrugs and frowns. “Now what, then? What are you going to do with me?”

“Just as I spoke to Curumo. You must be taken to Manwë. He will determine your fate.”

I see a brief glimmer of dread and fear on his face, and he persists:

“What do you mean, ‘determine’ my fate? What are they going to do to me?”

I sigh, and try to think of a way to answer him.

“Sauron- why did you not ask yourself this, before committing the deeds you have? Why such fear, after all this time?”

He falls silent, and looks down. Then, he raises his golden head slowly, with a look that says he has finally understood the enormity of being caught, at long last.

“Will they torture me?”

Stunned by the question, I stumble over the answer. “Of course they will not torture you! Only Melkor delighted in such measures…and you, yourself! The Valar will not deal cruelly with you. But you certainly must know there will be some penalty!”

“The Void, then. The Abyss. The Not-Life.”

“Perhaps not. A great deal depends on you, your thoughts, your remorse. But this is not the time for this discussion. We have a very long journey ahead! It may be that I will plead for you, for leniency. As I said, a great deal depends on you, Sauron.”

The sullen face works into tears, and the lips tremble slightly. He bows his head, and the tears drip onto the floor.

I lean over to him, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Sauron…” He looks up at me, weeping.

“Olórin…let me go..please…just let me go..you will never see me again..I will go back to Mordor…or Angmar…”

“I cannot, you know that, now get to your feet, it will not be as terrible as you fear, if you will repent and-- ”

My words are cut off by a sudden lashing out of his leg, trying to topple me off balance.

Having failed, he shrinks back, nearly cringing.

Numbly, I reach down and pull him to his feet by one arm, and push him forward, towards the doorway.

“Start walking, Sauron.”

 

 

We begin the journey back.


	2. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Pre-Ring War romp.

Mirkwood Forest. – hours later.

Dark, and foreboding, is this forest, even though I have the main malignancy right here before me, shambling slowly with hands shackled behind his back- and now I have shackled his feet as well.

It is very slow going.

Curumo has, true to his words, left me to care for- and oversee- Sauron’s fate now. It was not supposed to be that way, but since he has seemed to lose all sense of restraint as far as abuse of helpless prisoners, I am glad enough that he is not with us.

Sauron stops, suddenly, and looks back at me, his face shining in the moonlight. He is tired, not used to walking, let alone walking long distances. Sweat glimmers faintly on his brow, and he looks- most displeased.

“Olórin. I want- to stop for a while. I am extremely tired!” The lips purse to make the point, and I nod, a little amused, despite the gravity of the situation. I motion to a grove of trees, illuminated in the moon’s eerie glow.

He walks before me and then sits down, gracelessly in his bondage, on the soft grass.

I make two sleeping mats, and lay them down, as he watches me intently.

The night air is warm, unusually so, and I slip off my outer cloak. Sauron frowns, and begins to complain, something I will find he is very good at:

“What of me? Am I to sleep sitting up, trussed as a fowl?”

“Patience!” I go to him, and unshackle his wrists- but not his ankles. “Only so you may eat, and get in a comfortable position to sleep- and then back on they go. I do not trust you, Sauron.”

He smiles scornfully, but nods in false obedience. “What is there to eat, then?”

I smile back, and cannot resist teasing him, for some reason: “Lembas bread. I am sure you are familiar with the food of the elves?” He looks at me in anger and horror, and replies acidly:

“I cannot eat that filth! It will poison me! Or is that the intention?”

With a sigh, I shake my head at him, and pull out a roll of smoked meat from the bag. He looks relieved. I hand it to him, and he takes it, cautiously, as if it may come to life and bite him. Then, at last, he eats it with almost painful elegance, slowly, never taking his eyes off me as he does so.

Finally, I sit down and finish off a half of a lembas portion, and then I allow myself to relax slightly, leaning back under the tree we are under, but not taking my eyes off Sauron. So, we mutually observe one another with relentless distrust.

“Water.” he says, gesturing at me. “Water?” I say, feigning confusion. Does he not know how to ask for a thing, in a normal fashion?

“Water!”

“Yes, what about it?”

“Give me some!”

“I see you still fancy giving commands. But you will find I do not take them. Have you no sense of manners at all? I am not your servant, Sauron!”

The prettily handsome face radiates fury, but he relents, and finally asks again:

“Olórin- ‘please’ give me some water.”

It is a sham, and a farce of the most obvious variety, but it is enough for now. Perhaps by the time we reach Valinor, he will have found courtesy and simple decency again, and it would serve him very well.

If he behaves even reasonably well, I do intend to plead for mercy for him. But I know he will make doing so a great challenge.

I go to him and hand him the flask, and he takes it, lingering over it, his lips wrapping around the end in a very suggestive fashion. Looks at me. Smiling.

I look away, rattled somehow. I did not expect that. Now what?

He hands me the flask, and grins wickedly. “Now. You drink, after me.”

“I am not thirsty.” He glares at me, as if I am refusing to play some game with him. Perhaps that is the case.

I rise, intending to re-secure his wrists, and he also stands suddenly. Alarmed, I prepare to subdue him if he tries anything foolish- but he merely pulls off his red and black outer robes.

And then the inner tunic comes off, tight black leather, exposing his sleek and hairless chest. Then- he begins to unlace the leggings, and I speak then, in a voice that does not even sound like mine:

“You do not need to strip utterly naked, Sauron. Save something for the imagination, hm?”

He straightens, tossing back the long golden locks, and frowns petulantly. Then with one long hand, he reaches up and touches his chest, dragging sharp fingernails over one nipple, and closing his eyes.

What is he up to!

I suddenly want this situation to cease.

“Give me your wrists.”

“No.”

Annoyed by his childish antics, that may only be a precursor of some dangerous act he is contemplating, I reach for his wrist- and he moves with deft swiftness, so that my hand misses his wrist, and falls on his chest.

My face warms, reddening with shock and anger, and I pull back- but not before feeling the silken skin of my fellow Maia.

“I am not in the mood for games!” I inform him furiously, and he only smiles, and backs away from me a few steps. He wears a look of playful spite, and I cannot fathom what he thinks he is doing.

Agile as a young deer, he twists away, and I am suddenly aware of this body I am in, its limitations, and lack of flexibility.

It is a game, I can see that, bizarre as it may be.

But he forgets his ankles are shackled, and he stumbles backward, landing hard on his back with a grunt. I can see the wind is knocked out of him, and I lower myself onto him slowly, manacles in hand. I sit on his chest, not with my full weight, but enough to pin him down.

“Now! Give me your wrists!” He does so, with that false meekness, and I secure him once again, this time, arms in front.

“I would- like to sleep- the other way.”

“What other way? Hanging like a bat, perhaps?”

“On my stomach, old fool!”

I sigh deeply, immensely aggravated. “Just sleep on your back, Sauron!”

“But--”

“Be silent!”

I rise off him, and pull him towards the mat, sliding him on the grass. I dump him unceremoniously on it, and then stretch out on my own.

I lie in the starry darkness, uneasy. And then, the now-familiar whine drifts across to me:

“Olórin…I have a cramp! A cramp! Please, help me!”

Wearily, I rise, and go to him. “Where is this supposed cramp?”

“So cold, you are, heartless and--”

“Will you tell me where it is?!”

“My- leg—up—high.”

Every sense I have, tells me he is lying, but the whimpers have become sobs, and cursing my own stupidity, I kneel down, feeling in the darkness, and place my hand on his thigh, and I can feel the muscle tightly clenched, seeming to be locked in a spasm.

I massage the straining muscle, and it finally begins to ease.

“I- am not used to walking so far, I fear.”, he mutters, almost apologetically.

Still kneading his thigh, I nod mutely.

“Is it alright now, then?”

“It is improving- you had better do that for a moment longer.” His voice is husky and soft, and, charmed without even realizing it, I gently rub my fingers over his leg, moving downwards, and then up higher again.

He sighs, and assures me I am saving him: “Much better, much better, it was so painful, really.”

Finally, I stop, and raise myself, looking down at him.

Suddenly, he lunges upwards, and I again curse my aged form- he pulls me down with one hand, and I fall hard onto him, chest to chest.

Angry, I start to push myself up, and he implores me:

“Olórin, a moment, please! Have you-- have you never done a thing simply for the sake of pleasure, for the joy of it?”

“No!”

“Share pleasure with me, Olórin. Something that will relax both of us, ease our way into sleep.”

“What are you conniving now?!”

“You are no child, you know what I speak of!”

I consider this, and gaze at him, too close now. Our bodies press together, having an effect on me, and Sauron’s hips move under mine, writhing. Squirming in undulating arousal, so dimly remembered.

//get up now, ere it be too late, fool!//

My own chastising advice strives against the musk of Sauron’s sweet body under me, and it does not prevail.

Immobile, I remain frozen in time and space, not daring to move, and he moves forward, his lips finding mine, his tongue slithering into my mouth like a seeking serpent.

This body of his, too hot, too hot! For did he not kill his enemy at the Battle of the Last Alliance by throwing himself upon him, with his dying strength? And searing hot is his Fire Maia’s body, but now it is only a seething, a shrouded fire.

I grasp his hair roughly, and bear down on him, returning his unasked for kiss with a far more brutal one of my own.

He moans in my mouth, rearing up against me, his back arching. I hear myself say something that is grossly untrue, and yet I must say it, as I reach down and loose one leg of his irons:

“Sauron- if you try to escape, I will hurt you. Do you understand me?”

I shudder at the unaccustomed cruelty of my words, but if I do not say this in this fashion, it will mean nothing to him.

“Do you understand this?!”

“Yes, yes!”

His freed leg snakes over my back, and then the other wraps around as well. His hands remain shackled, raised over his head now.

I move down on him, and my tongue finds one soft nipple- but the friction quickly changes its condition, and Sauron croons softly, hips moving again. I continue my attentions for some time, shifting to the other, fingers gently squeezing, pinching with the lightest of pressure, and his body surges under me in excitement.

Anxious, now, remembering how it feels to want this, I unloose the remaining shackle on his ankle, and pull off his leggings at last. My own come off quickly, quickly, and we lie together now, skin to skin, each vulnerable to the other.

I slick my fingers eagerly, liberally, and push them into him, not hard, but forcefully, deeply. He nearly squeals and grinds against me, and I feel how hard he is, rubbing, gasping.

But as proudly as it stands, even more arrogantly does my own staff rise now, ready for him, throbbing for him.

Two fingers- then three- then four.

Sauron’s cries are long and loud, and his legs clench around me, his whole body wet with sweat, muscles taut.

“Are you- alright? Can you take this?” I whisper sharply, not desiring to truly hurt him.

“Yes, I can take it! I will take it!”

My fingers sink into the tight abyss, up to the knuckle now. My thumb adds its voice to the symphony, and Sauron writhes hard under me, nearly screaming, hips pumping up to meet my assault. And suddenly, I am in all the way, up to the start of my wrist- I turn my fingers inside him to stroke the swollen gland, and Sauron moans in a delirious crescendo, ecstasy dripping from the sound.

Slowly, I withdraw, light headed with my own arousal, and pull out of his steamy clench.

I pull his legs up around me high, and spread him wide, sinking in, feeling his fire surround me, making me thrum with pleasure.

I move so that I may reach his mouth, and the soft lips open, wet and hot, darkly welcoming me.

I am far too excited to last too long, it is close already, and I drive into him to the utmost, eliciting more cries and moans, urging him on.

“Are you close? Are you nearly there, Sauron?”

“Oh, yes, Olórin, soon, soon, ahhhh…”

“Together, then, with me, now…”

We strive together, and in the extremity of climax, even as Sauron convulses with a piercing cry under me, I do not notice that he has somehow managed to get ahold of my Elven blade, hiding it under his robe, next to our straining bodies.

 

I will not even realize it is gone, until it is nearly too late.


	3. Abhorred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Pre-Ring War romp.

Lying together, with my arch-enemy, arms and legs entwined.

It could not be a stranger scene, or a more unexpected turn of events.

We nuzzle together, as if we are in love, and he tells me many things, some tender, some painful…he tells me not to call him Sauron: he hates that name- it means the Abhorred – the Foul.

You are far from foul, I tell him, kissing him, a doting old fool, satisfied in body, and dulled in mind by that very fact.

Annatar, he says. Call me Annatar. I took that name because I liked it.

What is your true name, Flame of Angband?, I ask him, turning a term for him I had heard from the lips of a dying orc into a love-name.

He pouts a little, and murmurs a strange name, something that does not seem right, somehow, and then he smiles, and says:

“Very well, the last true name I recall was Nár… Nár.. Flame…as you said to me, but of Utumno, not Angband…I warmed Melkor’s cold body with my fire, as you may have surmised…”

I clear my throat, a little shocked, but not utterly surprised. It is not unthinkable they had been lovers.

He smirks, at some unknown mirth, and then whispers. “Annatar I like best of all, now.”

“Yes. It is so, then. Lord of Gifts.”

We lie in silence for a while, and then, he moves in that peculiarly sensual way against me, like a serpent in man-form, coiling around my senses, even as he prepares his fangs.

“I long for him, even now.” The beautiful eyes are closed in moonlight’s halo, and I let him talk.

“I loved him, I still love him, and I will never see him again.”

“You do not know that for certain.” I tell him, wanting to add, that I feel they will find each other again, and yet, I do not say this. For he would understand that I am saying he is destined for the Void, to a dark reunion with his Lord.

And I do not know this. No one but Eru knows.

And it would terrify him, even with the thought of being with the Dark One again.

Suddenly, he is above me, and I remember the situation, and in alarm, I flinch sharply.

His mouth descends onto me, sweet beyond all measure, and I respond, gladly, aroused already, despite my weary and spent condition. But though my mind is excited, and eager, my body is not cooperating.

“I- do not know if I can- again- so soon- Annatar.” I say, regretfully.

“It is alright. Let me show you what I like…something ..he used to do to me.”

I force this last comment out of my mind, as he moves around so that he is straddling my face, delicately hovering over me, hesitant, and then he lies down, his face near my thighs, his legs around my head.

“Do you..mind? Do you wish ..to?”

I answer with my hands pulling him down onto my mouth, spreading him and thrusting my tongue inside. His muscles clench and then relax, and the soft moaning tells me my ministrations are being enjoyed. Neurotically precise and order-driven, he is of course meticulously clean and pure, and the spicy-salt taste is not unpleasant at all.

“Oh, I love that, I love it, nothing feels so good as this, not in all of Arda…”

My fingers curl into the light golden hairs, framing his tight cavern. Like gold and magma combined, they shine in soft radiance.

I am rather enjoying this, myself, and I insert one finger in deep, as my tongue continues its attentions. I drink him in, and thrust my finger in and out, and Annatar’s hips move in rhythm, and his voice is strained and frantic, more of a whimpering than anything else.

“You know where to touch… do it, oh, Olórin…please…”

I do, indeed, know where to touch, and my finger presses and rubs there, to an accompaniment of soft cries, and thrashing body. He rides onto my deeply probing finger, and his noises are sharper, caught in a rising tide, and I know in a matter of seconds he will erupt above me, sending his molten lava spurting down my neck and chest.

But I want more.

Now my elderly but powerful body has remembered itself, and I gently pull my finger out, even as he tries to keep it inside.

“Annatar…roll onto your back. Haste, haste!”

He obeys, with surprising compliance, and I mount him swiftly, knowing he is well-prepared for this.

I sink into him all the way, and the look on his face is indescribable, almost rapture- I am pleased to give such pleasure, and equally pleased to receive it.

We move in the ancient rhythm, quickly now, both too far along to take any time, and I feel it coming, trying to hold off, for his sake- but I need not, as he looks up at me with wide blue eyes, flashing slightly red now, and gasps out: “The moment is upon me, Olórin!”, tensing in elegant ecstasy, and surging up with a cry.

So bidden, I allow it myself, and my heart races in the otherworldly sensations, Maia to Maia, soul to soul, brother to brother.

We dissolve in bliss together, and then the world slips away, and I fall into a deep and unwise sleep.

Morning comes, as a shock and a blasphemy, as I open my eyes to the fair face above me, with a smug and cold smile.

“Olórin. What a splendid lover you are, despite this venerable form. I nearly did not awaken before you, so spent and eased I was!”

I move to sit up, perhaps to embrace him or kiss him, and I feel something very sharp and cold press into my neck.

“Nay, you had better stay there. We will be going in a moment though, do not be so impatient.”

He has a blade pressed to my throat, and the realization of this turns my blood to ice.

He draws me up to my feet, and I struggle to awaken fully, to comprehend what has happened- and how!

I never put the irons back on him, I realize dismally, and then I slowly reach down to my leg, just above the boot. “It is gone, dearest fool, that silver shaft now has a new master. One who will not hesitate to use it, I might say!”

He sizes me up, smirking again, as last night when he thought of Morgoth-

“A fine hostage you are, my love. Yes, valuable, and worthy! Your captivity shall see us into Mordor very nicely!”

That smile again, so cold and yet so heated, all at once.

“I may let you live, Olórin. You are a wonderful lover. I have not felt such pleasure since- since a very long time ago.”

He presses up behind me, and I hear the metallic sound of chains. Of course. The warden is about to become the prisoner.

And of a sudden, from out of nowhere, there is a loud thud, and Sauron falls heavily against me from behind, staggering.

I move away from him to try to see what is happening, and then I understand.

Curumo.

Sauron was struck on the back by the Staff, but he still has the blade, and though he is out of breath from the blow, he moves away as well, and we all stand in a circle, facing each other.

“Have you remembered that this is Sauron the Deceiver, now, Gandalf?” Curumo says softly, maliciously, and then he lunges at Sauron, and brings the Staff down on the slender wrist, and I hear the crack of broken bones.

Sauron cries out, and the blade falls to the ground. I move towards him, as this is the obvious moment to restrain him, he is long and strong, but he is no match for the two of us, especially with a broken wrist.

But then Curumo seems to go mad- again.

“Stand back, Mithrandir!” I look at him in confusion, thinking perhaps Sauron has another weapon I do not see- and then Saruman raises the Staff again and brings it down across the pale, frightened face, and Sauron reels, falling to his knees, dazed.

“Curumo- let us restrain him now- he is no threat--”

But he is only beginning, and as Sauron tries to crawl away, fairly cringing, all desire for bold action utterly gone from him, Curumo brings the Staff down a third time, and this time it brings blood.

As I see this, I am so stunned I am locked in place, but Curumo is not ceasing, and the blows come down mercilessly, raining down, and Curumo puts a boot on the broken wrist, pinning him for the assault.

The screams are piercing.

Mindless of any allegiance to Saruman at that moment, I hurl myself at him, and knock him away, and stand between him and the huddled form under him. More insubordination. But I do not care.

“Enough! Have you gone insane? What are you doing? This is not called for!”

I am so angry I can scarcely speak, and Sauron crawls behind me, our unpleasant encounter this morning temporarily forgotten by both of us.

“He must be – broken! Broken!!” Curumo hisses at me, his dark eyes wild, mad. His hand clutches the Staff convulsively, and I see blood on the sharp spikes.

“Leave him. It is enough. Indeed, far too much.” I defy my superior, not caring. Saruman glowers at me for a very long time, but finally moves away, and sits down on a boulder, silent.

I turn my attention to Sauron- Annatar- and he has curled up on his side, hands over his face.

Very gently, and under Curumo’s spiteful gaze from the boulder, I try to turn him over, but he pushes me away, moaning. I must see, however, and so I insist, and my heart recoils at the sight.

The once-beautiful face is marred and wounded, there is so much blood I cannot even see the injuries. I take the hem of my robe and carefully wipe away the majority of it, and now there is more clarity.

One eye has already swollen shut, and both are blackening. I do not think he is permanently maimed, but the healing will be slow and painful.

What if I had not stopped Saruman? I look over at him, in wonder and horror. He returns my look, and finally says quietly:

“Gandalf, I know you are thinking I am a monster, but if Sauron is not utterly laid low- so broken and beaten that he will never threaten us again- we will not be able to get him to Valinor. I take no joy in hurting another, but in this case- sadly- his spirit must be broken! Would you prefer we eventually have to kill him? Again, I take no joy in it. My heart wept with every blow.”

I do not believe him. At all. I shake my head, not wishing to answer.

Sauron covers his face again, and I remember the broken wrist. With a sigh, I gently feel for which one it is, and the soft groan tells me.

I must set it.

Dreading this, I lean back, suddenly beaten and broken myself, and then I rise, to look for a splinter of wood to splint the wrist.

 

 

 

By the Valar, this has gone very bad.


	4. Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Pre-Ring War romp.

It is no good stalling, I must attend to the task before me.

I sit by the injured Maia, and see that he has again huddled up tightly, hands over his face.

“Sau- Annatar…let me set the wrist. Come, give me your hand.”

Curumo, perhaps regretful, perhaps not, has declared he would set out ahead a way, and then return with news of a path before us fair or foul.

I do not long for his return.

He has turned what was already a very dangerous and strange mission, into a bloody drama. And yet, if he had not come back when he did- I would now be a hostage, on my way to Mordor.

But what he did to Sauron was inexcusable.

Curumo ordered me to shackle him again.

I did not totally obey - how would I do this? His wrist is broken and injured badly- I will not put manacles on him.

I have, however, shackled his ankles.

Just in case.

Now, the golden haired creature beside me finally relents, and uncovers his face, still badly swollen, even worse now, I see.

Trying to remain impassive- and failing- I take the slim wrist, and begin to feel the bones, as gently as I can. I need to lodge them in place before splinting, and it is going to hurt.

“Annatar- brace yourself, I will be quick, but it will be painful.”

He looks at me with wide blue eyes, and grips my arm with his other hand.

Swiftly, I snap the bones back into place, and close my eyes, to not see the face that went along with the soft shriek.

I wrap the splint, and then squeeze his other hand.

“I am so sorry. But it had to be done, otherwise, you would be crippled.”

Sauron smiles through his tears, and then replies very strangely:

“It is a little late to be concerned with that, I am afraid.”

I look at the hand he now raises before me- on the index finger; there is a deep, ugly scar, thick, knotted, in grave contrast to the tapering, elegant finger.

Of course.

Isildur’s legacy, the never-healing wound.

I do not know what to say, exactly, but he speaks again, and his words weave horror into my heart.

“I was driven back, as you well know, at that fateful battle, and one of them- I do not recall who, now- one of them drove a blade into my belly, through a narrow opening in the armor. I stumbled, and my eyes began to dim, and the pain was like being burned alive. I threw myself upon one of them, and I believe he later died from the heat of my spirit. And good fortune! At least I could be avenged on one of them.”

He paused, and I realized I very much did not want to hear- or know- what he was going to say- but I had to let him speak.

“I knew I was dying, and yet, I could not believe it! I- I staggered- and finally- fell to my knees, and the Elves and Men gathered around me. Elrond drew close, and I saw on his face, mercy and honor mingled, and as he raised his sword, I knew he was going to finish me. And I was glad for it, as the pain was unspeakable. But, then-! Isildur approached, and before Elrond could release me from that suffering body, he kicked me onto my back. The Elves gasped- and the Men cheered!”

Sauron swallows hard, now, and I can not speak. I can only listen. I have never heard this tale, from this point of view.

“He knelt on me cruelly, one knee on my chest, and my mind swam with agony. He did not care. He- and the Men- were glad of it. He pulled off my helm, and the Elves again gasped, seeing the face they knew, then, and they moaned. Some wept. The foul Man spat in my face, and slapped me, as I lay dying under him. And then- and this was the worst of all- he seized my right hand, and beheld my Ring! His face lit with joy, and he raised his blade- now, he could have just taken it off my finger, as I was far too weak to move- but he brought down the blade onto my hand, and severed the ring finger, and took it up, forgetting all about me.”

His face solemn and sad beyond measure, he finishes:

“I am ashamed to say, I screamed, then, and there were, I was astonished to hear, outraged shouts from the Elven company thronged around me, and Elrond was suddenly there again- and he looked angry, furious even. He shouted at Isildur, and his face- I never forgot this- his face was livid, pure anger, and it was for my behalf, and I was again astonished. And then he turned to me. The Elves all fell silent, with bowed heads- they looked like they were praying- perhaps they were! But the Men were rejoicing, shouting, singing, cursing my name. Elrond now knelt beside me, and I would have drawn away, if I could have moved. For a very long moment, we looked in each other’s eyes, and he whispered, sive, Annatar – ‘peace’- as if I could hope for that! -and then- so swiftly, I did not even see it coming!- his blade was through my heart, and a moment of far-away pain released me. And I died, at last. I fled, free of the pain, but horrified at losing the Ring. For many countless years, I was a ghost and a shadow, and then I finally was able to take a body again.”

Visibly weary, he sank back down, dropping the maimed hand beside him.

“I never forgot the savagery of the Men- or the honor and inexplicable mercy of the Elves, enemies though we were- and are.”

Badly shaken by all he has said, I cannot even move for a moment, and then I gently put my arms around him, grieved.

“Foul your actions and deeds have been, yet I would have spared you such suffering, if I could have.”

I am deeply disturbed by this new version of a very old tale.

Is it the truth?

And yet, why did Isildur cut the finger off, and did he truly do it while Sauron was still alive?

I shudder, suddenly, sickened.

I decide to change the subject, as quickly as possible.

“Do you- think you can eat something? Whilst Curumo is gone away?”

He looks up at me, face marred badly by Curumo’s blind rage, and mind hurt by what he has just recalled- and then sighs.

“I will try, Olórin.”

Lurid blue of his eyes, boring into me.

“Lean down closer.”

Suspicious, I hesitate. “Why?”

“Will you kiss me now, that my fairness is only a memory, once again?” he asks, mockingly, watching my face for a reaction.

“I will not kiss you now- but not because you are not fair- nor did I kiss you before only because of that fairness! I will not kiss you, because you have been injured, and I will not hurt you.”

He looks at me and frowns, and I am not sure if he believes me. But it is the truth.

With a weary sigh, he stretches out, and shifts his manacled ankles, and the clink of the chains disturbs me, somehow.

I am very uncomfortable with what our relationship has become.

I look at him out of the corner of my eye, in the morning light.

I am well aware of his notorious history of seducing his enemies- both sexually and emotionally- and then taking what he desires of them, leaving them in pain and despair.

Or dead.

I know what he did to Celebrimbor. Poor Celebrimbor, whose last thoughts were perhaps of the golden hair and icy beauty, even as he was slaughtered in cold blood, a helpless captive- at Sauron’s request.

He led all of Númenor to its doom, all because he desired vengeance on them for their assault upon him. Even as he himself endured drowning, he no doubt exulted in their ruin- all at the hand of Ar-Pharazon, who now became the supplicant at Sauron’s feet, in a strange reversal of fates, yearning only for him, and following all he asked.

Or not so strange, for anyone who beheld the radiance of Annatar.

He moved male and female alike, and they seemed to understand that the unnatural and burning fairness was his true form- not a glamour or a falseness- but his true Maia form.

The only falseness was in his disguising the corruption that lay hidden inside himself.

He is frowning at me, and a petulant look comes across his marred perfection: I see the childish pout begin, and yet- he is injured.

So I listen.

“Gandalf…”

Strange, that he should call me that. He has always used my true name, up until now.

“Yes?”

In the late morning light, his hair has the glow of a setting sun- I find myself drifting into it- and then, with a great effort, I cease.

“I do not wish to be subject to Curumo’s rages anymore!”

“I agree, and I understand. I make no excuse for him. But he is my- my superior- I will do all I can to protect you- I already have done so, and I will again.”

“All you can? You have not done me too much good, I do not think! I hurt from head to toe, and- what if he endeavors to do still worse?”

He slithers closer- so snakelike!

“Nay, you had better let me go- or my harm and death will be your doing!”

“You already know I will not release you. Long years have gone by, with you at liberty. I cannot do such a thing! I will protect you.”

Now, he tries a different tactic. Subtle, sweet, coy.

“Do you not care for me, Olórin? Look in your heart, and see what it tells you. Nay, do you not love me somewhat, already? If you deny, still, I know otherwise!”

I must not let him know what I feel. To do so will be ruin.

“My own feelings- impassive as they are- mean nothing in this matter. You know this! I do not wish to see you harmed, or terrorized. And I shall plead leniency for you in Valinor, despite your attempt to abduct me. But release you? Nay, that would only put all of Arda- and indeed, you yourself, in grave danger. For Curumo will certainly insist that we slay you, ere you be found again!”

He curls a long arm around my shoulder, as I sit next to him- smiling now, sweetness mingled with poison-

“For every protest you utter, your mind and body deny, and I can yet feel you reach out to me, in love, not merely lust!”

I must silence him.

 

 

My hungry mouth finds his bruised one, and finally, I find relief from the maddening words of the truth.


	5. Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Pre-Ring War romp.

Thirteen days and nights have come and gone, and still no Curumo.

Nearly two weeks.

Sauron complains constantly, and when he is not complaining, he is sobbing, and begging to be released- and to stop the pleading, I engage him in another dangerous embrace..over and over..and so have passed these strange days.

The fourteenth morning, an ill wind blows, and I feel danger, acute, sharp, somewhere near.

Very near.

Annatar looks up at me from his bed roll, naked, feet shackled, a picture of lustful satiety.

I have lost count of our lovemaking.

But there is a different look to his eyes, this morning. Plotting, inwardly turned, deeply scheming. He is growing desperate now, terrified of what is awaiting him at Valinor- loathful to take any penalty at all. And he has allowed the fear to grow in his mind, until it is now an irrational horror.

He smiles that secret smile at me, teeth gleaming like stars at midnight.

Murmurs to me in a fell tongue…

“Do not use those words to me, Annatar. I do not understand them, and even if they be loving and sweet-humored, I do not want that tongue spoken near me.”

He smiles less, then, and turns away.

“Where is your foul leader?”

Of course, he means Curunír.

“I do not know what has happened. I am very concerned.”

He smirks, and snickers softly, and I suppose I cannot blame him for his hatred towards Curumo- not now.

We have made slow but steady progress- it would be far faster if I had Shadowfax- but that would involve either trailing Sauron behind me on foot, or securing a mount for him. I do not wish to give him a steed, not do I wish to hear the whining, if I were on horseback and he on foot.

Nevertheless, we are progressing to the place where we will board the ship- the ship that will take us all home.

I know Sauron will do anything in his power to avoid that happening.

I help him up, and watch as he pulls on his robes and cloak- there is no need for false modesty between us, now, or for my pretending I do not wish to watch his lithe, beautiful body. It is like a statue of a deity come to life, golden and sleek, every movement designed to arouse and enchant.

The hair- oh, that hair! Like a river of lava, kissed by gold at the surface, curling here, and then cascading there, down his shoulders.

Still, there are bruises, some of them quite dark and painful to see, across his shoulders and back, as well as the worst on his face.

My heart races, as I look upon him. I am…woefully…certain I am beginning to love him.

Not for his face, or body, though they be resplendent. I am not certain how or why it is happening, Eru knows his manners are horrific, he is spoiled, cruel, arrogant, exceedingly hateful.

A young and wild-hearted wolf, who never grew into his fangs properly, given too much power and authority at far too young an age, and forever corrupted as a result.

He smiles, knowing what I feel. Confident in the power he wields with this unnatural perfection.

There is very little in the way of maturity, or wisdom, or even common sense in him. But he is incredibly intelligent, and cunning beyond measure.

And he feels…dangerous… today.

I know he is motivated by great dread and terror, and if I can only find the right things to say, I can alleviate that terror, and my own peril.

I approach him, thinking to reassure him again that I will stand up for him, to perhaps tease him and say something terribly amusing like, “Do I not always stand for you?”- and then, in the flash of a red and wrathful eye, he strikes out at me, with the swiftness and precision of an attacking serpent- he strikes me across the face with his arm, hard, and I stagger back, totally off balance.

And unforgivably caught off-guard.

His hands find my throat, and he clenches, and I see the most terrible thing of all: the blazing red of his eyes, the deep blue all but disappeared into twin fires.

He is fighting for his life, or so he believes, and now, I am as well.

I try to choke out a sound but nothing comes. Onto the ground he drags me, incredibly strong, and his knees pin either arm down, sitting on my chest, straining the shackles to their limits.

His hands strain harder, and he suddenly closes his eyes, moaning. He is injuring his broken wrist, but continues nevertheless.

I must get out from under him!

With a great effort, I wrench free with one hand and pull his hair hard, and he howls in fury- I pull harder, and the pain is too much- and his hands slip off my throat.

I knock him off me, and lunge for my Staff, and we face each other, Sauron holding his splinted wrist, eyes still bright red.

His hair hangs down like a gilt curtain in front of his face, now dripping with sweat.

“Stop this madness! Now! You are going to be badly hurt- Sauron- cease at once!”

He lunges at me with a savage rage, and I realize that I am grappling with the fighter, now, the warrior.. Melkor’s lieutenant. He will kill me, if it means escape.

I have been lulled into a foolish complacency, and did not even see it. This beautiful rose hides fatal and terrible thorns.

Absurdly, I remember last night, in a momentary flash of memory:

Golden above me, riding me with thrusting hips and half closed eyes, impossibly breathtaking, groaning in a shrouded, thick voice- my own pleasure only magnified by the sight and sensation of his, as he arched, eyes rolled back into his head, moaning that it was “too much, too much.." ...and then swooning into it, clenching me with his fiery insides, into oblivious joy…

As he falls on me, I sidestep, violently aware of the very different and very deadly situation this morning- and my fist connects with that lovely jaw- regretfully, perhaps- but forcefully.

He makes a strange sound and leaps back, holding his mouth.

Cursing viciously, he spits blood onto the grass, and a shining white tooth drops into the blood. He looks at it in horror, and then at me.

“You Istar-filth! What have you done to me!”

“Annatar- calm yourself- get control of yourself again!- listen to me- I will heal the tooth- but you must calm down!”

He backs away a few steps- carefully- this time, he recalls the shackles- and then takes up a large stone, bringing it down on the chains, once, twice.

I start towards him- he has no weapon, as such, I think- and then he hoists the rock up, warningly.

“Stay back!”

Never taking his eyes off mine, he brings the rock down on the shackles the third time- and they shatter. He looks at me, triumphant.

His eyes dart back and forth, seeking a way out. He makes a decision, and bolts away.

Curse him!

Physical speed has never been my strong merit, but I give chase nonetheless. He quickly outdistances me easily, but Eru be praised- destiny does not allow him to go far.

He stands again facing me, and between him and freedom is a deep chasm- he has managed to flee straight to its edges, and only barely stopped himself from falling into it.

Snarling like a trapped wolf, he turns at bay, weaponless, but still valiant.

Slowly, very slowly, I walk towards him.

“Annatar…” I purr gently, “I will not harm you. You must know this by now…move away from the edge, I do not wish you to fall!”

I see the fear again in his eyes, and the fiery glow fades, and they are only wide and blue again.

He hesitates, and his foot slips under loose gravel, and thus unbalanced, he totters- I am upon him in an instant, and catch him.

But he still has a mind to struggle, and tries to wrench free – now, it is my foot that slips, and, suddenly dizzy, I lose my equilibrium, and begin to fall.

Something catches my robe, and I am pulled forcefully back from the edge, and hurled to the ground.

I look up, sprawled in the dirt, stunned by my near-dying.

Sauron.

He saved my life!

We look at each other, silently, and then he turns again to run, and I lash out with my Staff and bring him down, knocking his legs out from under him.

Still in silence, I bind his ankles close together with my belt, and one wrist- the uninjured one- I tie behind his back.

Exhausted, I sit back, and regard him, in a new light: was he not willing to kill me to escape? And yet- in a moment’s decision, he saved me from falling to a certain death. Breathing hard, he lies on his belly, subdued now, cursing softly. I do not know what to make of this. Or do I?

Is it possible…he does feel something for me?

If he had allowed me to fall, nothing would have stood between him and escape.

 

 

“Do not go anywhere.” I tell him, “I am going to go find your tooth.”


End file.
